Friday, February 14, 2014

With the right combination of warm clothing, clunky
waterproof boots and a trusty soundtrack of happy music to keep the blood
pressure down and the attitude up, I manage to make it out alive.

Cold people, however, I can’t handle.

And not on an individual basis. Dealing with the occasional ice
queen or an unfriendly colleague isn’t the end of the world. Coldness in
isolation is manageable, and I’ve accepted it as an inescapable feature of the
interpersonal landscape.

But coldness en masse,
that’s a different story.

I once found myself surrounded by a tribe of uncaring,
unthoughtful, cynical, terminally certain people who wouldn’t know warmth if it
burned them on the ass.

And it corroded my spirit like an evil rust.

I was born on Valentine's Day, for god's sake.

So despite my efforts to infect the tribe with warmth and
positivity, and no matter how many times I thought to myself, my love will wear you down eventually, not
even the finest thermostat, the softest sweatshirt or the warmest cup of coffee
could cure the culture of coldness.